


Alone: In Cubicle (alt title? TOW the Workplace Hand Job)

by eon_s



Series: TOW all the FRIENDS fics [3]
Category: Friends (TV)
Genre: 90s Vibes, Angst and Feels, Bathroom Sex, Casual Sex, Character Study, Cruising, Feels, Hand Jobs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Microsoft Entertainment Pack, Office, Office Sex, Oops the rating went up, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink, Season/Series 01, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sexuality Crisis, That's it, Unrequited Crush, Workplace, Workplace Sex, also some minor Brian!headcanons because Chandler deserves supportive relatable Brian, also this goes without saying for me but chandler's got his floopy hair in this, and also, bros being gays, chapter 2 is either gonna be all masturbating, corporate drudgery, gays being bros, is office kink a thing? because i have it bad, just a handjob between coworkers, oh oops we did have some crying too i forgot and i tagged this while drunk so theres that, or all crying, or maybe both who knows, the New Year's Kiss of 1994-5, though is it really cruising if its an office bathroom and its with Brian from payroll?, we have, we have no crying nor masturbation, we'll know when we get there, we're also quoting 90s music but its not a songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:46:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29236278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eon_s/pseuds/eon_s
Summary: Chandler is miserable. Chandler is at work. Chandler is productive(?)Maybe not. But Chandler is at work. That's half the battle.(Or, the one where I crammed as much 90s office aesthetic into a fic as I physically could. Also a sexuality crisis. Also Brian.)
Relationships: Chandler Bing/Brian from Payroll, Chandler Bing/Joey Tribbiani
Series: TOW all the FRIENDS fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121450
Comments: 5
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have a huge soft spot for angsty!Chandler. I have a huge hard-on for business boys. The result is whatever this is. (Chapter 2 will just be smut. Maybe more idk. We'll see. Could be smut and angst.)
> 
> Random thing I've noticed is how much Chandler drinks in my fics. Like author like fic I guess. Oops? (I swear I'm not Fun Bobby by another name lol)
> 
> Also: I'm playing fast and lose with the order of things in canon of season 1, but even more so with the historical realities of Microsoft Entertaiment Pack which, if I recall correctly, came out in its 'best of' format in like '98, but all the earlier iterations came at different times in different bundles. I could look up which is in which, but I won't. I will let myself tolerate the abiguity because no one but me and like maybe 2 other people are anal enough to care about that.

9:15

Bright and early – work-ready as a freshly pressed shirt. _Back on the scene, crispy and clean._ Chandler’s still a bit hungover from the weekend – parties don’t roll of his back like they used to. Never mind that, though. It’s a new day, a new start. Productivity. Gotta get to it. Right.

_Engine Engine Number Nine, on the New York Transit line…_

God, why is that stuck in his head today? It’s been haunting him all morning, the hook cutting through the miasma of his concrete-grey morning. _You can get with this, you can get with that._ Not that it’s bad – far from it – it’s a welcome addition to an otherwise drab workday, but there’s something about pairing actual music with the elevator ride up the tower, instead of just awkward silence, that just really emphasizes the fact that he’s in an office and not anywhere more interesting.

There was a guy outside his building with an old boombox this morning. Did he pick it up there? No way of knowing really. Still, his foot is tapping, and he can’t for the life of him bring himself to work just yet. He’s antsy – jumpy. One too many coffees? Too awake – overcompensation for the hangover – damn it. He can’t just _sit_ here, not with that song in his head and his pulse pounding in his temples.

Fuck it. Short break. Just one cigarette in the parking lot. Quick as can be given the need for jackets and scarves and other such insulation. Then it’ll be time to put his mind to work.

10:32

God. Shit. Brian was at the water cooler when Chandler went to fill a paper cup and they had to awkwardly dance around each other to get past one another. Fuck. _Why do I have to be so awkward? I just made everything so much worse. Fuck._ Bad enough the office gossips were having a field day over Shelley’s mistaking him for gay and all the embarrassment that branched off of that assumption like some kind of cringe-fractal. Now he had to fuck it up again and show everyone it was still bugging him.

He hadn’t even _wanted_ a water. It was just a distraction because his head is all over the place. _Fuck my life._ Everyone will be talking about it now. Chandler’s latest weird reaction to a perfectly unremarkable situation. _They’re all going to think I’m homophobic or something. Great. Now I’m the office asshole._

11:28

 _Fuuuuuuuuck._ Lunch feels like it’ll never come. Chandler’s gotten precisely 20 minutes of work done so far today. He was just settling into it, too, just getting his stride, when one of the adjacent cubicles became the scene of an unexpected case of ‘spontaneously exploding ballpoint pen.’ It was basically expected of him at this point to make some thinly veiled premature ejaculation jokes and that spawned a bunch of ‘bro jokes’ with the guys on his side of the room. It earned him two high-fives and one dirty look from the hot blonde lady with the desk in the corner. Not the worst result, not the best. B-grade performance.

In the aftermath, Chandler lost his enthusiasm for anything even remotely productive. He’s in joke mode now, and more than that, he’s hungry. He knows there’s a Tupperware of Monica’s lasagna in the shared office fridge just waiting for him. Any minute now.

Any minute.

11:37

Chandler has unfolded four paperclips into straight lines of wire.

11:40

The wires are now bent to spell out ‘HELP.’

12:45

The lasagna was like an oasis in the flavourless beige world Chandler is trapped in, but it was gone too soon. He tries to hang onto the memory of it, the taste of it lingering on his tongue, as he re-enters the gauntlet of monotony.

Work is unreasonably slow this afternoon, even by the usual standards of corporate drudgery. Chandler feels like a background extra in a Dilbert cartoon and wants to die. The florescent lights are giving him a headache, and the spreadsheet on the monitor before him isn’t giving him much relief. On top of that, his mouse keeps dragging weirdly, the ball catching on the mousepad. It’s been about a thousand years since he’s cleaned it, so it’s probably long overdue for some rudimentary attention.

The ‘P’ paperclip isn’t the official, ideal tool for the job, but Chandler’s not a computer repairman, anyway, and beggars can’t be choosers. He worries the straight end of the wire into the tight gap between ball and socket. Sure enough, there’s ambiguous grime impeding the smooth, ergonomic glide he’s told he deserves by the powers that be. He knocks the grime into the little garbage can he keeps under his desk and then throws the paperclip back with the others.

The vigorous cleaning session has straightened it out dramatically and his little collection now spell something closer to “HELL”

_It’s almost like it’s trying to tell me something._

Fuck it. He minimizes his work window and opens his desk drawer, rifling through it until he finds the little stack of floppy disks he’s hidden in there – a collection of Microsoft Entertainment Pack’s greatest hits. He loads one surreptitiously into the slot. The corporate overlords instituted a workaround – they even removed Solitaire from the base operating system, the bastards – something about studies showing it lowered productivity. Well, to hell with them. They could try to outlaw the simple escapism of such revolutionary experiences as Minesweeper, but Chandler’s not going to take that kind of prohibition lying down.

The grid pops up and he gets to clicking.

12:56

Minesweeper isn’t actually all that great a choice for the mood he’s in, Chandler decides after losing his third game. He feels like he’s living _in_ Minesweeper – has been ever since New Years and it’s – what – two months and change later? And he’s still hung up on it.

Joey kissed him. Kissed him! And yeah it was New Years, and yeah it was to stop him whining, and yeah it was just a friendly thing and not intended to cause a crisis of sexuality but given Chandler’s history _how could it not?_

It’s eating at him – still – and he can’t say anything because that’d imply he’s been worrying the entire time. It’d be like the Brian debacle but worse because it’d have been secretly festering for months under the noses of his _best friends._ As much as coworkers’ opinions can rattle him, the idea of looking that stupid in front of the gang… of being the token neurotic fuck-up yet again… it would be a nightmare.

Shit. He’s hit a mine again. The little face stares at him with X-eyes of accusation.

1:04

Damn it. He nearly got caught doing nothing. Nose to the grindstone now.

1:28

God, to hell with it. He can’t keep staring at numbers. It’s making him want to peel off his own face.

Solitaire – solitaire is great. Solitaire is fun. The fact that it’s his office’s equivalent of contraband makes it all the sweeter. He sets the deck to the island beach theme – because fuck. Why not? Why not have the illusion of being somewhere relaxing and tropical? Anyway, it’s kind of fun to try to catch the sun making a little face while you play. He likes that. The surprise. The subtlety of the animation.

_Jesus Christ, I’m losing my mind._

Is this it? Is this what madness feels like? Obsessing over kissing your best friend months ago and becoming overly attached to the little semi-animate sun in the Microsoft solitaire island deck sure sounds like the beginning of a pretty legendary descent into insanity.

Fuck, he’s so bored. Bored and anxious – the worst combination there is. Throw in lonely and you’ve got a triple-decker depression sandwich. There are only so many ways you can kill time in an office. If he goes up to use the bathroom again people are going to think he has some kind of gastrointestinal disease. If he tries to get water again he might run into Lowell or Shelley or fucking stupid hot Brian and then he’ll have to jump off the roof.

Solitaire is infuriating. Third game in a row with all of two moves. _This is why you play Freecell._

Freecell is out, though, because the king looks like such a smug son of a bitch that he makes Chandler want to choke himself to death with his tie.

Fuck it. Smoke break. Smoke. Break. Now.

2:25

‘Hi, Chandler?’ Why ‘hi, Chandler?’

Brian said hi to him – Brian _smokes_ apparently. They were both freezing their balls off together watching the snow fall outside. And stupid, stupid, stupid Chandler had to look over and meet his eye. And he’d said ‘hi, Chandler.’ Not ‘hey Bing’ or ‘you’re the guy in the cubicle by the artificial ficus, right?’ _Noooo._ ‘Hi, Chandler.’

That means he knows him. That means he almost certainly _remembers everything._

It gets worse – Chandler, stupid, stupid, _stupid,_ Chandler could’ve done the ‘nod and look away’ thing, but he didn’t. He said ‘sure is a lot of snow outside, huh?’

And Brian had shrugged and said, ‘we seem to keep running into each other.’

Then while Chandler was still looking frantically around for a car to jump in front of, he’d added:

‘Look, I’ve been where you’re at. You ever need to talk – I’m here, man.’

And _patted his shoulder_ and left.

 _Patted his shoulder!_ Like… like a frat boy or something. Like a brother. Like a gay frat boy brother.

_This is the worst-case scenario. You thought that’d be everyone thinking of you as an inept heterosexual who keeps looking too gay but no – it’s this. Everyone thinking you’re an inept homosexual who can’t come to terms with himself._

God, the pity will be the end of him. Brian must’ve told people – Lowell at least – because when they ran into each other as Chandler was walking back to his desk, Lowell gave him this sad, sympathetic little smile… Chandler had spent the next five minutes talking himself down from trying to force his stapler down his own throat.

The fucking pity – they have no business pitying him.

_You’re pathetic, though. You know that._

“Shut up, little voice,” Chandler mutters, which earns him a weird look from hot blonde lady who, of course, picks that exact moment to walk by.

He’s not got it in him to do anything anymore. He wants to go home. He wants to be anywhere on earth except his cubicle. He feels like the walls are closing in and crushing him.

2:30

Water cooler trip again.

3:00

Bathroom again.

3:56

Shit. He dozed off at his desk. Just woke up and from what? A dream. A dream about the fucking curse that was that off-hand little casual New Year’s kiss. No, not an erotic dream – he’s not _that_ pathetic. Or maybe he is, because all he can think about – all he can remember – is this dream of… just… yawning isolation, opening up beneath him. Joey kissing him as a joke, turning back to laugh with the group. 3, 2, 1, Happy New Year. Everyone had been bitching because their plans failed, their dates flopped, whatever. They’d been laughing together, though, at the end – the beginning – that pivotal, transitional moment. Chandler didn’t have any particular aspirations for 1995, but somehow the image of being left alone at the cusp, clinging to the fleeting warmth of a joke-kiss, made him feel sick in that moment, and the dream’s brought all that sickness back.

Why does it have to be like this? He’s funny – he can be charming, even, when he wants to be. His friends say they like him. Even Janice must see something in him to keep circling like a vulture.

_So why do I still feel so fucking unlovable?_

Is it because he’s here, in an office, and everyone else is off doing something fun? Is it just because he had a shitty childhood? Hell, he’s not the only person that’s ever happened to, so why is he the one who’s been crippled by it? Or… is it because he could be there too, living it up, if he wanted to be – maybe not literally in this exact moment, but… metaphorically. He feels… hollow. Off-kilter. Like a jigsaw with a piece missing.

_You liked the kiss. You know you did. You’re turning out exactly the way you would turn out, given the set-up of your parents. The perfectly crafted punchline – it isn’t so funny when it’s your life, though, is it?_

“Just let it go – why can’t I just…”

_Focus. Just focus on the work in front of you, for the love of all that is holy don’t think about the dream or the kiss or the feelings or the minefield you’re in._

Chandler gives this all of a minute to kick in. When a minute passes and he still feels like a pile of garbage resting on an uncomfortable office chair, he gives up and switches his attention to his smuggled copy of WordZap for the 8 minutes it takes for him to remember why he hates playing it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some handjobs and some supportive!Brian headcanons and some needy!Chandler. and a non canon conveniently placed bathroom for sex to occur in. Why not, it's a pandemic, we deserve this.  
> Sorry if there's typos I just had like half a bottle of chardonnay on an empty stomach and I am gone  
> (Also i always find it weird that hand job is two words and am never consistent about writing it that way fucking FIGHT ME)

* * *

4:30

Chandler’s had it. He’s so close to the day being over, so close to freedom, but the promise of escape, somehow, is making it worse.

_I need to get out of here._

Just a breather – just a break. He doesn’t want to go home because going home means going back to his friends and all the conflicting thoughts in his head about Joey. No – he’s going to go to the awkward bathroom instead.

The awkward bathroom is just what it sounds like – an awkwardly placed gender-neutral bathroom adjoining a stairwell. As far as anybody knows, it was put there -allegedly – for accessibility, which makes little sense seeing that another more conveniently located bathroom already exists for that purpose. Other theories include that it’s a place for people to change their kids' diapers if ever their kids, for some reason, should be at the office and need changing; that it’s simply a design flaw in the overall design of the building – a room too small to be used for anything else; or that it’s a place for people to go cry when the reality of their miserable lives becomes too much for them.

Chandler is increasingly certain the last explanation is the right one.

He manages to avoid any direct human contact as he navigates the halls and stairwell necessary to get to the little hideaway. He slips in, infinitely grateful that he is alone, and takes one of the two stalls, locking himself in and bracing an arm against the door for a minute. He just breathes, then, in and out, waiting for the tightness in his chest to abate. When his eyes start burning, he doesn’t fight it. If this place really was put here to give workers a secret crying zone, then in a weird way, maybe he’s just doing his job.

Deep breaths. He’s sobbing – it’s no use. The reality of it all – that he’s a grown man crying in an office bathroom, somehow just makes him feel even more depressed than he did before. It’s stupid. The whole thing – the stress. The soul-sucking job. His fucked-up childhood. The kiss. God, what a nightmare.

He thuds his head against the door hard enough to mildly stun himself for a second. As such, it takes him a minute to realize he is no longer alone.

_Please just pee and leave. Just pee and leave. Please don’t have heard me fucking crying, for the love of –_

“Chandler? Is that you?”

Fuck. FuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK. He knows that voice. _The universe must really hate you._

“Hello, Brian.”

“… are you okay?”

Chandler goes for ‘yes I’m fine’ and ‘no I’m having a panic attack’ and the results are less than desirable.

“Yes, I’m a panic attack.”

He groans and buries his head in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration.

“No. I don’t know. I think I’m losing my mind.”

He hears the door to the other stall open and then a voice, roughly an arm’s length away from him, separated by the partition wall.

“I’ve been where you’re at, you know.”

_Really? Because I don’t even **know** where I’m at._

“Oh yeah?”

“Sure. I spent a lot of my early twenties crying in bathroom stalls.”

Chandler is surprised that he sounds so straightforward – like he’s not making fun of him. _Maybe he’s not._

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. I figured – I’m not ‘gay’ gay, right? I don’t do drag, I don’t like musicals. I’ve never been all that enthusiastic about anal sex. I can’t be gay.”

“I’m with you on the first two,” Chandler concedes, genuinely curious. “But what do you mean with the last bit. I mean. That’s sort of how the whole thing… goes, right?”

“It can be. For some people it is. For a lot of people it isn’t. I’ve got my own hang-ups – I _like_ that I can blend in around here, you know? Some people would call me a traitor for that, but it’s just who I am. I don’t want to be ‘gay’ gay. I just want to be me. And who I am is just… Brian, who works in an office and happens to think men are attractive.”

Chandler scoffs.

“You make it sound simple.”

“In a way, it is.”

“Not for me.”

Brian waits a beat, not saying anything, and then Chandler starts talking, and talking, and talking. He’s not even remotely Catholic, but for the first time, he understands what some people get out of confessionals. Not having to look at Brian, or have Brian look at him, makes it easy – frighteningly easy – to speak his mind. And he does. At length. Until he realizes how long he’s been talking and starts hyperventilating.

“Easy – slow down over there. Take a breath,” Brian intones soothingly. “You’re okay.”

“I don’t feel okay.”

“Yeah. Look, Chandler, I won’t lie to you. That shit your parents pulled? Both of them? That’s not how you raise a kid. I’m a child of divorced parents too, as it happens –”

“You are?”

Somehow out of all the things going on in this bathroom, _that’s_ what Chandler’s mind fixates on. _He’s – but he’s so normal – he’s even popular! How –_

“Yeah. Mom and Dad separated when I was eight. It sucked, but from the beginning, they made a decision that they wanted to do it amicably. Spare us the heartache as a family. It can be done without the kids getting in the line of fire – I’ve seen it. I’ve _lived_ it.”

“Good to know it’s just my bad luck, then,” Chandler says snarkily, then winces. “Sorry. I don’t… I’m not trying to be an asshole.”

“Relax. I get it. But look, hear me out – I don’t think you should blame the entire non-heterosexual population for the transgressions of a parent who put their wants ahead of your needs. There’s a lot of us out there who aren’t bad guys. Being gay doesn’t mean you can’t control yourself. That’s a personality problem more than anything.”

“Hmm,” Chandler grunts – not disagreeing, but not really ready to verbalize that just yet.

“Think about it like this. Do you have any friends outside of work?”

“Of course I do, I’m not that pathetic.”

“Are they straight?”

“… yeah.”

“Okay. So, one of your friends goes out to a restaurant, say, and sees a cute person of the opposite sex waiting tables. They ask them out, the person says ‘thanks, but I’m taken.’ Does your friend get aggressive or force the person to get physical with them?”

“No – none of my friends would do something like that.”

“Right, because they value the right of that cute waiter or waitress to say no.”

“Right.”

“Great – we’ve established you can differentiate straight people who behave ethically and appropriately around others, and straight people who violate boundaries. So, let’s say I see you by the coffee machine. I think you’re pretty good looking. I also see that you’re hung up on this and aren’t interested in a relationship – let alone one with someone you work with. So I don’t push it or force things. I just leave the ball, respectfully in your court. And if you say no, I respect it and move on. Because we’re not all selfish, Chandler. Some of us really can interact like any other human being, believe it or not.”

“Hang on,” Chandler says, mind taking a minute to catch up. “Hang on.”

“I’m hanging.”

Brian’s voice sounds surprisingly warm for someone talking down a mental case through the wall of a bathroom stall.

“Are you – do you – I mean, you said – did you? Do you?”

“I think you’re pretty handsome, yeah. More than that, you seem like a sweet guy underneath all the awkward nervousness.”

Chandler’s mouth opens and closes a few times. He’s always feared some kind of homosexual proposition but now that it’s upon him, it’s surprisingly flattering and he doesn’t hate it, which scares him a little.

“It’s okay to not want to do anything with that, by the way,” Brian continues. “You can just go ‘that’s neat’ and move on. It’s not a big deal.”

“Unless I want it to be.”

“Exactly.”

Chandler’s mind is racing and his mouth is dry. He’s shivery and scared and weirdly, intensely turned on. He’s always had a thinner line separating fear from arousal than most people but the way this conversation’s started getting to him is terrifying, which, in turn, just makes it sexier. It’s the best-worst feedback loop of his life and he has no idea how to escape it. He’s not even sure he wants to.

“What if –” he tries, and his voice wavers enough he has to clear his throat and try again. “What if I do want it to be?”

“Well, then,” Brian says, voice dipping lower, “we’d be having a different conversation.”

“Uh huh?”

“Uh huh.”

“About – what?”

“That’s up to you.”

Chandler swears in frustration, banging his head against the wall before he can stop himself.

“Whoa! You okay?”

“Yeah – no – I don’t – I don’t know how to have this conversation.”

“That’s okay,” Brian says with a note of finality and no, _no he’s leaving damn it._

“I want to!” Chandler blurts out, louder than he means to. “I w- I want to. I just – I don’t know _how_ to… to…”

“Do you… want to get out of the stall?”

“No,” Chandler says reflexively. “I mean, I… I’m scared shitless by how much I’m interested in seeing where this is going, but I – I feel like if I see you it’ll ruin it.”

“Thanks,” Brian chuckles, amused.

“No – not like that – I mean – I don’t know what I mean. In a weird way, if I’m in here and you’re over there I feel like it’s easier to talk about this.”

“I can understand that,” Brian concedes. Then, “what if… what if there was something we could try without you having to get out of there?”

“I think if you come in here I’ll have the same problem,” Chandler says, trying to keep his voice from sounding like that of a man whose entire blood supply is currently in his dick. _God, a therapist would have a field day with this._

“No I mean – look, you stay in there. I’m just going to hop out and lock the door – is that okay?”

“Not that people usually come here, anyway, but knock yourself out, sport.”

_Sport? Sport?? What’s the matter with you?_

Chandler berates himself in quiet agony while he listens to Brian leaving his stall, crossing the room, locking the door, and returning to his stall.

“Okay,” Brian says softly. “I’m back now.”

And suddenly there’s a hand under the shared stall wall. A very masculine manly man hand with a men’s watch and everything. Chandler swallows hard.

“You uh – you want me to interact with that?”

_Smooth._

“If you want to.”

“What should I – uh – what do you want me to p-put in it?”

“Whatever you want. You can hold it, if it helps. Or…”

“Or?”

“You can put something else in it. It’s up to you.”

Fuck. _Fuck._ Chandler’s hands are shaking as he cautiously unbuckles his belt and steps out of his slacks. He folds them neatly and drapes them over the door to the stall. His underpants are comically tented – he feels like his dick could cut marble. He hesitates then, hands clutching at the waistband.

“Uh – by – by something else… could that be my penis?”

Brian laughs, warm, _pleased._

“I’d like that.”

He’d like that. _He’d like that!_ Chandler can’t think of the last time someone was this excited to touch his cock. At best, he was used to his partners tolerating it. But _asking_ for it? Like… like it was something more than just a chore? Other than Janice, Chandler couldn’t think of anyone recently giving him that kind of attention, and with Janice it was all caught up in _emotions_ and _feelings._ This was something else. This was… amicable. Just a bro giving a bro a hand job under a stall. At work. _Chandler, you dog!_ This is something cool, sexy, confident people do. He isn’t just entering into a world of bisexual life experiences – he’s entering into the world of daring office quickies. It’s a lot to take in.

“Okay,” Chandler swallows, kicking off his underwear. They slide out into the middle of the room, but he scarcely notices. “Here I am.”

Saying it and doing it are two different things, it turns out. He squats low, his balls dangling towards the open, receptive palm facing upwards as if waiting for some kind of gift or blessing. He feels a bit goofy in dress shoes and socks, his shirt tails flapping around aimlessly, but he forgets to give a shit about how it looks when Brian’s warm, dry hand cups him gently, guiding him forwards until he’s pressed against the dividing wall, his junk low enough that Brian can get a look from his vantage point.

“Very nice,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of in this department.”

“Yeah?”

Chandler’s breathless, and sure, the flattery is so low effort Brian could probably say it in his sleep, but Chandler’s still eating it up regardless. Brian’s hand disappears for a second, then comes back wet, and Chandler lets out a shrill kind of yipping noise like a kicked dog.

“Oh my God,” he breathes. “This is really happening.”

“It really is. You okay with it so far?”

“Pfft – as if there’s ever been a guy on earth getting a hand job like this who said no.”

“It’s not weird that it’s a guy giving it to you?”

Chandler considers this in as much as he can consider anything.

“Not really? Now, _that’s_ weird. The lack of weirdness. But I imagine that’ll be the sort of thing you get accustomed to with a strict regimen of strategic exposure –”

“Do you always babble when you’re having sex?” Brian asks and Chandler’s heart feels like an empty can crushed under somebody’s boot.

“Sorry.”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that – it’s cute. It’s endearing. It also gives me a goal – what can I do to you to make you forget how to string sentences together?”

“Well, I’d say you’re off to a good sta –ah –”

Brian’s doing this whole reverse grip thing with his thumb. Chandler can’t picture what it must look like because he’s too busy trying not to immediately cream himself. It’s just overwhelming – the novelty, the fact that Brian’s good at this, the grip and sheer size of a man’s hand versus a woman’s, the fact that it’s thrilling to be doing this at work, but more than any of that, the fact that Brian’s somehow finding this worthwhile – desirable even.

 _I knew I could get a Brian,_ a little voice in the back of Chandler’s mind crows triumphantly. He knows the panic attack and self-hatred will probably come around later, but for right now? For right now, he’s floating. Floating on top of the world with a hand on his dick. It’s the most fantastic experience of his life thus far.

“Is this fun for you?” he asks before he knows if he’s ready for the answer.

“Of course, it is,” Brian laughs. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I mean – is it – are you – you know. _Enjoying_ it?”

“I’m hard if that’s what you’re asking. I’m not doing anything about it though – I’m not coordinated enough with my other hand.”

As if to punctuate his point, Brian does this really crazy fluttery thing to Chandler’s pubes which makes him have to stifle a giggle even as his dick bobs eagerly at the attention.

“So, do you, uh, want me to maybe try helping you out?” he breathes.

“That’s pretty brave – you sure you’re ready for that?”

Brian _sounds_ horny – his voice is all hoarse. _I did that! I made Brian sound all sexified. I’m a stone-cold fox!_

“Oh, come on, I’ve been jerking myself off for about a million years. I think I meet the basic requirements for the job.”

“Well, I won’t say no to that.”

There’s some fumbling with fabric and the sound of a zipper before a very real, very hard cock pokes out from under the door, accidentally brushing up against Chandler’s dress sock. _Oh, thank God, it’s normal looking,_ he thinks, and then shakes his head in disbelief. _As opposed to? What did you expect it to look like? It’s a dick._

Chandler reaches for it, faltering.

_Just a dick. Just Brian from Payroll’s dick. Holy shit, I bet there’s a whole fan club of gays who’d kill me just for this opportunity. I bet Lowell would steal my stapler and all my good pens for this._

“Okay,” he murmurs, mostly to himself, and before he can hesitate again, he grabs.

It’s in his hand. _Fuck._ It’s warm. _Of course, it’s warm. He’s not dead._

“There you go – it’s a little weird doing it at this angle at first, huh?” Brian says softly. “You’re doing great – I’m proud of you.”

He says it jokingly, but it goes right to Chandler’s dick. That’s unusual – not altogether unexpected. _You’ve already got Mommy issues when you sleep with women. Why wouldn’t you have Daddy issues when you fool around with men?_

“Does that feel okay?” he asks and shit, he sounds needier than he wants to, but he’s so hungry for more of that ‘proud of you’ schtick that he’d probably march stark naked through the office if that was what it took to get Brian to keep it up.

“Yeah, that’s great. Move your hand a sec – I’m just gonna spit on myself. Make it a bit easier.”

“Spit in my hand,” Chandler insists, then backtracks. “Unless that’s weird. Sorry. It sounded less bad in my head.”

“It’s not bad – it’s kind of hot, honestly.”

“It – it is?”

Chandler’s delighted. It’s a very rare moment indeed when he’s _accidentally_ hot.

On some level, it does gross him out to have another human being spit in his hand, but he suspects that’d hold true even if he was doing this with a woman. The overall sexiness overrides it though, especially when he wraps his hand around Brian and hears the other man’s breath hitch.

“Oh, fuck, that’s really good,” Brian groans. “I’m not gonna last all that long, here, I’m sorry. It’s just – the whole workplace thing. And the whole you thing. It’s kind of doing a lot for me.”

“The – the me thing?”

“Yeah. Just… it’s insanely flattering to be the one introducing you to this stuff. It’s actually a pretty common fantasy – you know. Turning a straight guy.”

“Some people would probably argue a straight guy wouldn’t get this far into it,” Chandler quips, then blushes when he realizes what he’s just inadvertently said about himself.

“Yeah, I know. But this is close enough that I feel like I’m crossing something off of my ultimate fantasy list – two things if you include office sex. So I’m calling this a win.”

“Well, I feel like a winner,” Chandler laughs, a bit manic and very, very aroused. “I’m going to be a winner whose coming like… any second now.”

There’s no way for a man to sexily announce he’s coming. It’s not like with girls where they can just say it all breathy and theatrical. With men it’s always dorky, never hot.

“Let me just – toilet paper. So we don’t get it on the floor.”

“Good idea,” Chandler says, and gathers some up in his free hand. “Are you uh… close?”

“I’ve never been more ready to blow my load in an office bathroom in my life.”

Fuck. Chandler stands corrected. Men – some men – absolutely can make that sound sexy. He positions the toilet paper over the tip of Brian’s cock and suddenly Brian’s groaning and the paper in his hand is getting hotter and wetter and wetter and hotter and it’s gotta be top three at least for the most erotic experiences of Chandler’s life because he’s coming too, coming because Brian’s coming and because he’s the _reason_ Brian’s coming which is just, like, the coolest thing he’s ever achieved in the workplace in the entire course of his career.

“Oh wow,” he pants, the stall wall cool against his forehead. He unconsciously tightens his grip on the toilet paper wad in his hand and some of the Brian wad oozes out and onto the bare skin of his palm. He whimpers.

“Oh wow,” he repeats.

“Congratulations,” Brian says warmly. “You just participated in the time-tested history of cruising in a bathroom. I mean, usually it’s not an office bathroom and it’s not with someone you know but given the circumstances, I think we can give you this one.”

“Lucky me, do I get a ribbon?” Chandler asks, going for sarcastic but sounding way too fucked out to make it sting.

“Sure, if you want. How about a merit badge for excelling with hands-on learning while we’re at it?” Brian taunts back.

“That’s funny,” Chandler beams. “Wow. Sarcasm and sex. Now I really know what I’ve been missing.”

“Mm. If you try this with guys outside of bathroom stalls sometimes you even get a refreshing cold beer or a post-coital slice of pizza.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

There’s a pause, and during it, Brian pulls away, relinquishing Chandler’s dick and, presumably, getting his clothes back in order. Not knowing what to say next, Chandler just follows his lead.

“Are you going to? Try this again I mean,” Brian asks.

“With you?”

“With anybody. I mean, I wouldn’t say no, but it’s not like I’m the only gay guy in New York so, really, the world is your oyster.”

“There’s a really bad joke in there but I’m not going to make it.”

“Then I really must have wrecked you good,” Brian chuckles. “So? How about it, draft pick? You feel up to playing for this team again sometime?”

Chandler waits for some internal sense of shame or anxiety to tell him not to, but they’re as mushy and useless as the rest of his brain is when he’s just gotten off.

“Well, as long as I’m allowed to play with my usual team in the off-season… I might be willing to give it a shot.”

“Awesome. Good talk.”

“Yeah, it was, wasn’t it?”

Chandler’s grinning like an idiot and recognizes he’ll have to get a handle on it before he goes back to his cubicle. As it is, he’s pretty sure that when he starts walking back, he’ll just automatically be skipping down the hall.

“Well, I’m gonna wash my hands and go back first – you can leave in ten minutes or so. Technically it’s after five so most people should be gone by now, but better safe than sorry.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Cool. Well… thanks for this. It was fun.”

“It really was,” Chandler replies. “Huh. Never thought it would be.”

“Nothing ventured nothing gained, right?”

“Something like that.”

“So… see you around, man. You ever want to talk – or whatever – well. You know where to find me.”

“Sure do – just gotta look for the sexiest person in Payroll.”

_Oh God, why did you have to say that? Now you’ve made it awkward._

“Ha, I don’t know about that,” Brian laughs, and Chandler can here him step out of his stall. “Hey, here’s your underwear.”

They shoot under the door – Brian likely kicked them over. Chandler catches them and slides them on.

“Thanks. And uh. _Thanks._ And uh… get home safe. Don’t talk to any crazy people on the train.”

_Still the smoothest._

Brian’s footsteps stop at the door, lingering.

“You’re cute, Chandler. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Goodnight.”

That’s it. The door opens and closes. Chandler stands still for a moment, just taking things in. Then with numb hands, he reaches for his slacks and guides his shoed feet clumsily through the leg holes.

_Goodnight, Brian._

5:25

Chandler leaves the bathroom.


End file.
